


The Risk Series 8:  Risky Fixes

by KS_POI_Pretender_Fan



Series: The Risk Series [8]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KS_POI_Pretender_Fan/pseuds/KS_POI_Pretender_Fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Zoe's clients was found murdered and her DNA was found at the scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

Bracing herself with her palms pressed flat against his chest, Zoe set the pace as she began to move, very slowly at first but speeding up slightly with each and every movement. Resting one hand gently on her hip, John used his other hand to caress her skin, delicately, wherever he could reach.

His attention was so absorbed in her, watching her every move, each movement brought them closer to the end. She looked beautiful, John thought. Her hair flowing as her head was thrown back, her flawless porcelain skin flushed with awakening, the striking look on her face as she surrendered to the pleasure.

His body reacted quickly to hers, moving forcefully. She buckled onto him, her face coming to rest against his neck, their still-joined, sweat-soaked bodies trembling in the aftermath. As soon as their breathing returned to a somewhat normal beat, John's phone rang.

"Yes, Finch." John answered.

"Are you okay Mr. Reese? You sound a little breathless."

"Just being put through my paces. Do we have a new target?" John heard a snort at his neck.

"Sadly, yes. I know we just finished up one a few hours ago, but these numbers don't wait."

"I'll be right there."

Zoe raised her head from its hiding place in John's neck. "Gotta go eh?"

John nodded then gently moved her off of him and to the bed.

"Hey lover boy, hand me Nora's red panties would you?" Zoe quipped referring to the underwear set that John had gotten her for Christmas.

"Stop calling them that." He said through gritted teeth tossing her the damned skivvies.

* * *

Detective Lionel Fusco arrived at the crime scene not bright eyed or bushy tailed. He and Rhonda had been out late the night before and ballroom dancing until the wee hours of the morning. Carter chuckled at him.

"Morning Fusco," she greeted him merrily as he approached. "Tough night?"

"Never better," he grumbled.

"Took you long enough," Pete, the ME said, standing up.

"Sorry," Carter apologized. "Someone got a slow start this morning." She looked down at the body, which was face down on the floor. "What do you have?"

Detective Carter took in the crime scene. NYPD Homicide Task Force had been called in early in morning when the body of David Winslow CEO of Winslow Research and Development had been discovered. He died of apparent gunshot wounds to the chest. His chest was soaked in blood from the two wounds, and his hands were red, as though he'd tried to stop the bleeding.

"COD, two GSWs to the chest," Pete said, pointing to the exit wounds on the victim's back. "CSU is collecting what rounds they can. Time of death was between ten p.m. and two in the morning."

"Murder weapon?" Fusco asked.

"None so far," Pete said.

"One of the CSU's got lucky. Found a couple of strands of long, dark hair from the victim's clothes. Skin tags still attached. And a glass with some finger prints with decent ridge detail. Oh and some rather sexy red lace panties. Safe to say, they aren't the vic's."

"We'll go through his stuff here, see what we can figure out who saw him last night and what time the maid came in." Carter said.

Lionel was looking at what appeared to be a calendar. "Looks like . . . oh crap . . . " Fusco said.

"Did you find something Fusco?"

"Yeah. Last appointment last night was Zoe Morgan."

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

John had just left the library and headed towards his loft. They had finished with their last number early that morning and he decided to head home to get some much-needed rest. He had been up for a good twenty four hours.

"Lionel . . ." John said as he answered his cell. "To what do I owe the pleasure . . ."

"When was the last time you saw Zoe Morgan?"

"What's going on Lionel?" The ex-CIA operative knew how to evade a question. Although he had seen Zoe early in the evening the day before, he preferred to keep his personal relationship under wraps. Lionel was too busy making eyes at Rhonda at the hospital Christmas party to notice anything unusual between John and Zoe; neither of which openly acknowledged their relationship outside of either one of their respective homes.

"Carter's going to shoot me for telling you this. We think we have some DNA from a crime scene that goes back to her. DB's name is David Winslow and last person on his calendar was Miss Morgan. They found hair samples and prints on a glass, the techs are running them through the necessary tests but it doesn't look good for her."

"What was COD?"

"Two GSWs to the chest."

"I'll take care of it Lionel."

"John, we have to bring her in."

"I know, just let me talk to her . . ." John said as he clicked off.

* * *

"Zoe?" John said as Zoe started to stir, she felt as if she was floating. He had let himself into her apartment and had found her lying on top of the covers of her bed still dressed in what he assumed were her clothes from the prior evening.

Her first sensation was one of nausea. She felt like her head was being pounded on with a hammer. Finally she opened her eyes, and sat up slowly, battling the urge to heave. Raising a shaky hand to her face, she felt her sweaty skin. Something wasn't right.

"John? What . . . where . . ." Something was definitely not right.

"Mind telling me what you were up to last night after I left?"

Ignoring John's question, she slowly made her way to the bathroom and was taken aback at what she saw. Her face was ghostly pale, her eyes were bloodshot and she could barely stay upright.

_What in the hell is going on?_  She thought to herself trying to fight off the confusion and light headedness. She tried to remember how she ended up feeling hung over and barely functioning.

"I met an old friend for drinks."

"The friend . . . who was it?"

"What is this John . . . the Inquisition?" Zoe's heart joined her head as the pounding continued. John was never so intent on finding out what she had been up to. Trying to regain some semblance of control, she walked past him into her bedroom.

"The friend . . . who was it?" John insisted.

Sighing heavily, she responded. "Meredith Lawson. She called after you left."

"You look like hell," John said.

"Thanks so much," Zoe said dryly.

Zoe moved to the bed and sat down, looking exhausted as if she didn't have the power to hold herself up.

"Look …" John started as he sat next to her on the bed. "Lionel called, some evidence has turned up in a case and it looks like it's pointing directly at you."

"What?" She looked at John, who was staring at her intently, as though trying to read her mind. "What evidence?"

"Possibly, finger prints. DNA from hair," John told her. Without taking his eyes off of her, "The hair was on a male victim. The finger prints were on a glass in the victim's apartment." His voice was hard and flat.

"That doesn't make sense. I…" Zoe stuttered, entirely lost. "I don't understand."

"Was Meredith Lawson the only person you saw last night?" John wanted to know.

"No. I had to go see a client."

"Tell me the rest."

"I went to the bar at the Helmsley. That's where she was staying. We talked for a little while then I had to leave to go see a client, then came home. I don't remember anything else after that."

"Were you drinking?"

"I had scotch at the bar," Zoe responded.

"Who was your client?"

"You know I can't tell you that." Zoe stated. "I came home…"

"What are you holding back Zoe?" John knew this woman. Always straightforward and direct, he couldn't help but think that for some reason she was holding something back.

"I don't remember," she finally admitted in a small, perplexed voice. "I remember leaving the bar. I vaguely remember getting into a cab… but then, nothing. I don't remember how I got home…" She looked into John's hard blue gaze, frantically trying to tell if he believed her.

John looked at Zoe, from the intensity in her gaze he could tell that she wanted him to believe her. He also saw the raw alarm in her eyes.

"Okay." John said as he gave a barely detectable nod.

That slight imperceptible nod meant the world to Zoe. It meant he believed her, that he trusted her. Although she breathed a small sigh of relief, apprehension settled in.  _What happened last night? Why couldn't she remember?_

"Zoe, I think you were drugged most likely. It would explain the confusion and memory loss."

Zoe's best option at the moment was to play things by the book. He believed her when she said she didn't remember there were too many signs he couldn't ignore.

"I'm going to call Lionel so that they can talk to you okay? I'll take you to them, but I can't go with you to the precinct."

Zoe nodded. "Fine, just let me take a shower and change. . ."

Shaking his head remorsefully, John stated. "Zoe, you can't. You might have some evidence on you."

Sighing wearily, Zoe nodded again. "Let's go then."

As they walked out she asked. "Who was the man? The one that had my hair on him?"

"David Winslow."

Zoe's throat clenched as she felt her heart drop to her feet. "Jesus . . . he was my client, the one I met with last night . . ."

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Detective Carter observed Meredith Lawson. She was a tall woman, well over six feet if she wore high enough heels and definitely exuded money and power. Long blond hair fell around her shoulders and a suit on that probably cost more than Carter made in a month.

"Is Zoe okay?" She asked a look of worry in her blue eyes. "She seemed fine when she left the bar. Otherwise, I would have made sure the doorman obtained a cab for her"

"There's some indication that Miss Morgan may have been drugged. Can you tell us anything that you remember about last night? Besides the bartender, who would have had access to your glasses?" Carter inquired.

Meredith pondered Carter's question. "As far as I remember, Zoe only had one drink. Scotch, always Scotch for Zoe. She was the one who went to the bar to order our drinks then brought it back to our table. We chatted a bit, talked about good old times. You know how it is with girlfriends."

"And what time did Miss Morgan leave?" Carter continued.

"I would say she left around ten, maybe a little before." Meredith replied. "You know, she did appear to be a bit . . . oh I don't know, anxious. She kept checking the time, as if she had some place else to be. I joked about it and asked her if she had a date. And she said no, she had to meet a client and she didn't want it to be too late when she met with him."

"So, no one got close to your drinks but yourselves?" Carter interrupted, the implication of Zoe's anxiety not sitting well. "Did Miss Morgan leave the table at any point?"

Meredith shook her head. "No, like I said, Zoe got our drinks from the bar and took them to the table herself. She didn't even excuse herself to go to the little girl's room."

* * *

Zoe was sitting in the interrogation room waiting for Detective Carter and Detective Fusco to appear. Her brain was still addled and her memory fuzzy. Having been processed, she never felt so exposed. Her blood had been drawn, her finger nails were scraped for possible skin, and her dress had been taken. Thankfully, she had been allowed to change into the clothing she had brought with her and that she didn't have to be interrogated in an orange jump suit.

Carter cast a concerned glance at Zoe as she entered the interrogation room. Zoe hadn't said anything to anyone the whole time she was being processed. Recognizing a brave front when she saw one, the detective hated the intrusive questions she was going to have to ask.

"How well did you know the David Winslow?" Carter asked. Zoe was seated at the interrogation table, her hands clasped together and resting on the surface.

"I only knew him in a professional capacity." Zoe answered.

"You did some work for him?" Carter asked, watching for any nuances or telltale signs that she was lying.

"Yes," Zoe responded, looking the detective in the eye.

"You spent quite a few nights with him, according to his secretary and his calendar." Carter hated the part of the interview where she had to make innuendoes to get her answers.

"I stayed no longer than an hour each time, Detective, not the entire night."

"What was the nature of your work for him?"

"Crisis Management . . . Risk Management."

"Can you explain that?" Carter's involvement with the Fixer was few and far between. She never fully understood what it was Zoe did, but it always seemed as if she had the answers whenever anyone needed it.

"Basically, I've been helping Winslow R&D deal with a major event that could threaten the stability of the company," Zoe explained trying to make it vague, but at the same time informative.

"Can you be more specific, what was this event?"

Sighing with regret, Zoe explained, "I'm sure you can talk to the board if you need more specifics. My contract with them specifically forbids me to discuss the nature of the consultation."

A knock came at the door interrupting Carter. Excusing herself, she stepped outside.

When she came back in, she cast a worried glance at Zoe, "Miss Morgan, the hairs they found on Mr. Winslow and the prints on the glass all belonged to you. Can you explain that?"

"It appears I may have been at his apartment and had a drink with him, but I honestly can't remember."

Carter knew how difficult her next statements were going to be to Zoe. Hesitating slightly, she finally looked Zoe in the eye with deep regret. "Miss Morgan, you were drugged."

Running her hands through her hair, Zoe asked. "What was it?"

"Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid or GHB."

"Like Rohypnol or roofies." Zoe stated face devoid of emotion.

Carter tentatively laid her hand on Zoe's, "We also found an item in Mr. Winslow's apartment . . . Do you recognize these?" Carter reached inside the evidence bag and pulled out the item. The look on Zoe's face turned to confusion as Carter brought out a red lace panty.

"Those are mine. They're part of a set a fr-friend gave me for Christmas." The faint stutter in her voice was the only give-away to Zoe's state of mind.

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

John was holding precariously tight onto his emotions since he had gotten that call from Lionel earlier that morning. Those feelings had been threatening to overpower his sensibilities ever since the DNA and finger prints were traced back to Zoe and now the confirmation that she was drugged and possibly assaulted. But now those emotions were perilously close to exploding, and that he could not afford. He had to keep calm and not lose his head.

He glanced at his trembling hands and was troubled to see his white knuckles clasped fiercely around the handlebars of his bike.

"Son of a bitch!" The words tumbled out of him in quiet rage.

"Well, there's no sense asking if you're alright."

John had forgotten for a moment that Finch could hear him as well as what was going on in the interrogation room.

"What's going on in there Finch?" John asked, effectively sidestepping the comment.

"Detective Carter is taking Miss Morgan to the hospital right now for a sexual assault exam," Finch attempted to say it as lightly as he could.

"What are you going to do Mr. Reese?"

* * *

The mortification grew in her chest; it was almost difficult to breathe. Tears threatened her armor of indifference, but she rejected the urge. Not here. Not now. Not where anyone can see.

First, came the questions.

When was your last period?  _Two weeks ago_.

Are you sexually active?  _Yes._

When was the last time you had sex?  _Last evening._

What method of contraception do you use?  _Pills and condoms._

Do you remember anything about what happened?  _Absolutely nothing._

Then the actual physical exam, although no different than an annual exam, it brought up feelings completely foreign to her. Feelings of helplessness, lack of control, and guilt.  _Why the hell should I feel guilty? I was drugged for Christ sakes._

At the end of the exam, Zoe sat in a chair with Detective Carter next to her. The Detective had come back in after the examination was completed to hear the results.

"Miss Morgan . . ." the doctor began. "Although there is evidence of intercourse, I can't find any indication of excessive force being used. We also only found some traces of spermicidal residue, which just means that he used a condom. Other than that, I don't see any bruising, cuts, anything."

"Are you sure doctor?" Detective Carter had needed a definitive answer, but the results just muddied the waters and didn't help Zoe's case at all.

"As sure as I can be," the doctor replied. "There is no sign of injury or trauma, with Miss Morgan having had intercourse last night prior to the event, it is difficult to say."

Zoe was too embroiled in her thoughts to catch the surprised look the Detective shot her.

She just stood up and headed for the door. "Thank you Doctor."

"Miss Morgan . . ." Carter called as she hurried after Zoe, putting a sympathetic hand on her arm. "Why didn't you tell us that you had been with someone else last night? Could he have done this to you?"

Zoe shook her head and sighed. "No, Detective, he has no bearing on this case."

"Why don't you let me decide that?" Carter asked.

Not wanting to divulge any more than she should, she stated. "Detective, I have it on pretty good authority that you're a very good investigator. You probably hear this a thousand times from suspects, but I didn't do it."

"If we talk to him, it could help exonerate you."

"If push came to shove, I can tell you who he is, but only then . . . "

"Do you have any enemies Miss Morgan?"

With a quirk of her lip, she asked. "Who doesn't?"

Carter nodded. "We have to rely on the evidence."

"I understand," Zoe replied.

The Detective motioned towards the elevator, "Let's go, I can give you a ride back to your apartment."

Zoe shook her head slightly, "Thank you, but I think I'll just take a cab." Carter knew what Zoe really wanted was to be alone. Alone to take in and absorb the implications of her current predicament.

As Carter made her way to the elevators, Zoe called out. "Thank you detective."

"Thank you for what?"

"For being kind and non-judgemental."

* * *

Zoe exited the hospital via a little known side door. Leaning against the wall opposite the door, was John. He glanced up as she closed the door, his blue eyes filled with remorse.

"Hi," he said simply.

"Hey..." she began to respond. Unfortunately, dealing with the past several hours became too much for her. The tears she had fought for hours on end, through the processing at the precinct, the interrogation, and finally through exam broke through her strategically erected barriers, and Zoe broke.

She immediately felt his strong arms around her, giving her support, clasping her shaking body to his chest. John gave her all the strength and warmth he could. He hated to see her in so much pain, so he let her cry. Trying to calm and soothe her, he just stroked her hair.

There was so little in this world that he could offer her, but he knew the one thing he could give her freely was his strength; anything to reassure her that she wasn't helpless or weak. That she was still a strong woman despite the bumps in the road. He could be there for her as he knew she would for him.

As Zoe finally got her tears and breathing under control, she pulled away from him and glanced up at his worried face.

"What the hell are you doing here? Are you insane?" she groused.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he answered simply.

* * *

John ended his call with Carter as Zoe came out of the bathroom wearing a short robe and toweling her hair dry.

"You don't look like hell anymore," he told her.

Rolling her eyes, "Nothing like a shower and clean clothes," she replied without breaking her stride, she went straight to her dresser to get some clothes out.

"They went through the security cameras in the hotel and at David Winslow's apartment. The hotel footage shows you leaving when Meredith Lawson said you did, but they couldn't find anything of you arriving or leaving David Winslow's."

Sighing, Zoe made her way to the couch and sat down pulling her legs up to her chest. "They don't have doormen at the side entrances or the back. It's for their tenants that want some semblance of anonymity. They might have security cameras though."

She looked at John as he came over to sit next to her on the couch. What had she ever done in her entire miserable life to deserve him? He certainly had more important things to do besides save her ass every time someone had it in a sling. But yet here he was being strong and supportive, and well, just here.

Resting her chin on her drawn up knees, she stared off into space. She had always taken pride in her ability to read people and situations. To be able to know if someone wasn't telling the truth. As a fixer, it was mandatory. It was part of her job to know people.

She shifted in her seat, disconcerted. To realize that she had somewhere along the line misread someone or a situation did not sit well with her. Brought out of her thoughts, she felt John's fingers running through her hair.

"Hey . . ." he said softly. "What's going on in there?" He asked quietly cupping the back of her head.

Zoe just shook her head. "Just thinking about this whole fiasco; twenty-four hours ago, everything was right as rain, we had just . . . well, you know. Now, I've been roofied, one of my clients is dead, I had to go through the humiliation of being interrogated and examined, my sexual activities in question, I don't even know if I've been sexually assaulted for sure, and to top it all off, I'm being set up for murder."

"So, Meredith told Carter that you were the one who bought the drinks and took it back to your table. And that your drinks never left your sight. True?" John asked.

Zoe reached over to cup his cheek, then his right ear; the one that usually wore the ear bud. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew that. But yes, that's true. I excused myself once to go to the bathroom but that's it."

"So, she could have easily slipped something into your drink," John stated as he gently took her hand and held it.

Shrugging one shoulder, "I suppose so," Zoe confirmed.

"She said you never left the table. And implied that you were on edge, and anxious."

"Well, she wasn't wrong," Zoe said, staring at their clasped hands. "I  _was_  edgy and uncomfortable."

"Why?"

Zoe shrugged again. "First time I'd seen her since her ex-husband and her father were indicted," she paused and stole a glance in his direction seeing if he made the connection.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey Carter, listen to this," Detective Fusco called out.

Carter walked to her desk the next day, surprised to see Fusco already there.

"You been here all night?" she asked as she handed him the coffee she picked up on her way in.

"Got a couple of hours of sleep then came in to see if anything came back from ballistics."

"What do we have? Did they come up with anything useful?"

"How tall do you make Miss Morgan to be? She's what, five-foot-four in her bare feet; five-foot-seven tops with three inch heels?"

"Sounds about right,"

"And Winslow's what six-two, six-three?"

Carter nodded, waiting for Fusco to continue. "Well the geeks at CSU reconstructed the shooting and based on how those two bullets entered Winslow's body, they put the shooter at about six-foot, six-one at least."

"Miss Morgan's friend, Meredith, she's tall. In heels, easily over six-foot. And there's just something about her story that doesn't make sense." Carter confirmed.

"And get a load of this. . . " Fusco added as he went to his computer and tapped a few keys. His screen split into two. On one side was footage of the Helmsley hotel lobby. On the other side was footage of what looked to be Zoe Morgan's apartment building.

"See here," Fusco pointed to the left screen, the one of the Helmsley. Carter and Fusco watched as Zoe made her way to the hotel lobby a little wobbly on her feet. After a few seconds, they watched as a familiar blonde left the hotel as well.

"Hmm. She never said she left her hotel did she?" Carter pondered as she went over in her head the interview she had with Meredith Lawson.

"Check this out too . . ." Fusco added pointing to the right screen showing the footage from the outside of Zoe's building. They saw a taxi pull up, Zoe exited the taxi and precariously made it to the front steps of the building and sat down. Almost immediately, another taxi pulled up and the same familiar blonde exited that taxi.

"Son of a bitch, she followed her. Zoe never made it to Winslow's apartment. Twenty bucks says we see Meredith somewhere in the footage of David Winslow's apartment." Carter said as she pounded her fist onto the table.

"Wonder boy called, said that the friend lied about Zoe not leaving the table. He said that Zoe told him that she had gone to the 'little girl's room' . . . Might be time for another get together?"

"I wish," Carter replied. "But, I went to talk to her again this morning at the Helmsley, and she's already checked out."

"Crap," Fusco said. "What is her beef with Miss Morgan?"

"Who knows, we'll just have to keep digging for motive."

* * *

Zoe stepped out of the shower and toweled off. It didn't feel as if she could take enough showers. Although she knew that David Winslow's death wasn't her fault, she couldn't help but feel responsible.

Moving into her bedroom, she slipped a clean top and jeans, and tugged on her flat soled boots, tucking her ever present phone in her back pocket. Awareness slowly tingling, she hadn't noticed the woman sitting on her couch at first. As she turned around, she saw Meredith Lawson, holding her gun; the one that had been strapped to the bottom of her coffee table.

"So, how have things been with you Zoe?" she asked, smiling.

Trying to disregard the fear blaring in her head, Zoe tried to determine if she had had time to get to the phone.

* * *

"Give me some good news Carter," John flicked his ear bud on.

"Seems like our shooter was someone in the range six-foot or taller. Unless Miss Morgan was standing on a stool, with heels on, there's no way she's our shooter. Plus, GSR came back negative on her."

"What about Meredith Lawson?" John asked.

"She's MIA at the moment; she checked out of her hotel room this morning." Carter also filled John in on what they had discovered regarding the footage.

His heart stopped. "Has Zoe gotten in touch with you today?"

"No, we were just getting ready to head over to her apartment."

"She's not going to be there. . ."

"Why not?"

"Call it a gut feeling . . ."

* * *

A bright, blinding light flashed in Zoe's eyes. The back of her head pulsed, as she tried to adjust her eyes to the glare. Though not being able to recall what had occurred, the pieces slowly flooded back. She couldn't remember what had happened at first. Then pieces of it began to flood back to her. She remembered Meredith with her gun forcing Zoe into a car. The instant sting across the back of her head, as Meredith hit her from behind.

As Zoe's vision cleared, she remembered the last time she woke up this way, and she barely escaped with her life. She wondered if this was it for her. Making out Meredith's outline positioned in front of her, she could feel a pair of handcuffs digging into her wrists. Another memory emerged; the one where she and John were handcuffed to chairs, awaiting their demise.

"Ah, she wakes," Meredith said in a voice filled with malice.

"What is going on Meredith?" Zoe asked, still woozy. "Why . . ."

"Why the hell do you think?"

Zoe's eyes finally focused and saw for the first time Meredith's face. Her eyes were red and wild, her breathing unsteady. Meredith, in the years Zoe had known her had never appeared this . . . unbalanced.

"I don't understand . . ." Zoe continued. Surreptitiously testing how far her hands could go, she was relieved that she was able to get to her phone she had tucked into her back pocket. As long as her phone was on, there was hope that John would be able to figure out where she was.

"Well, maybe if you would stop droning on and on about your life, you would realize how much you have ruined mine," Meredith raged.

"Is this about your father and Mark?" Zoe asked.

"Oh finally, you realize what this is about. It's your fault that my father and husband are in jail. You took everything away. Because of you, I'm alone. After what happened to your father, I thought you would understand . . . but no. It was all about you."

"Meredith, your father and Mark had Dana Miller killed. Their drug was killing people and they tried to cover it up. Don't you understand, innocent people were going to die," Zoe reasoned with her.

Meredith stopped pacing. She walked up to Zoe and drew back her hand as if to hit her.

"I don't care!" she screamed.

She lowered her arm. Walking away from Zoe, she began to pace.

"You left me with no money. I didn't care if I was alone, as long as I had money! But because of what you did, I am left with nothing! No one!"

"You killed Dan Winslow, an innocent man for money?" Zoe asked incredulously.

* * *

John killed the engine and jumped off, barely toeing the kickstand. Throwing off his helmet, he immediately reached for his gun. A flutter of apprehension in his chest told him there was something wrong as he looked at the now abandoned building that used to be Virtanen Pharmaceuticals.

Seeing the lone car in the completely desolate parking lot, the flutter in his chest mushroomed into a full blown panic. He flicked his ear bud on. "Carter, I need you and Fusco at Virtanen Pharmaceuticals," John said as he slowly made his way up the stairway he and Zoe had ascended last year.

* * *

Meredith stopped pacing and glared at her. "You were never this dense in college Zoe. This isn't just about money!" she screamed, lunging at Zoe. She viciously seized her arms and shook her. "This is about pay back. Karma is a bitch, isn't it Ms. Holier than thou! Who are you to judge me, my father, my husband? What makes you think you're better than we are? You're daddy was just as rotten as the best of them."

"Meredith, please listen to me. I never thought I was better than you or Robert or Mark." Zoe tried to reason with her. "You need help. Let's go someplace and talk this out. I will help you. I promise."

"Oh Zoe, we are talking . . ." Meredith said, eerily calm. "And you're finally listening. But, we can't go anywhere now. Our guest of honor isn't here yet."

Warning bells sounded off in Zoe's mind. "Who's coming Meredith?"

"Why your knight in shining armor of course. The one who helped you take everything from me."

Zoe fought to keep the fear from her eyes. "Please, Meredith. Don't do this," she asked, trying to curtail the trembling in her voice.

"Oh come on Zoe. This will be wonderful. You'll get to watch this time when I put a bullet, oh excuse me, bullets into your rescuer. Did I already say payback is a bitch?" Meredith sneered.

Zoe tried to curb the single tear that ran down her cheek, but she failed. She hoped that John wouldn't come, that he would send Carter and Fusco instead. That he would stay away, but deep down, she knew better. Panic overwhelmed her as she realized that she was utterly useless, handcuffed to a chair.

"You're not fooling me Zoe Morgan. I know you. Your ice bitch façade? I can see right through it," Meredith snidely said. "You should have known that in the end you were meant to be alone."

"So, shoot me then. Let's get this over with," Zoe said. "Just leave John out of it."

"Now what would be the fun in that?" Meredith replied, playing with Zoe and putting the gun to her temple. "I want you to watch him die, then realize you're alone and will always be alone when you die."

"She's not alone," a raspy voice said from the doorway.

* * *

John stood by the door, gun drawn aimed directly at Meredith's head. In all of her raging, she never heard the ex-operative enter the floor.

"Come on Mrs. Lawson. Let Zoe go," John coaxed her in a hard but soft rasp; he slowly walked into the room. "Just put the gun down, and we can all talk." His intention was to keep Meredith's attention while Fusco and Carter got into position. With only one entrance into the room, it proved difficult.

Meredith held the gun tighter to Zoe's head. Instinctively, John took a step forward.

"Oh John, your name is John right?" at his nod, she continued. "Zoe and I have already been talking," she responded. "I already told her how this is going to end."

"Killing both of us for revenge won't change anything," John informed her.

"I don't care about Mark and my father. This is all about payback."

In her anger, she pulled the gun away from Zoe's head and pointed it towards John.

"No!" Zoe screamed as she heard a gunshot.

Then he was there in front of her, holding her face up to look at him. "Hey, look at me. I'm fine. Carter got her." Over his shoulder she saw Carter and Fusco enter the room. As soon as the handcuffs that were binding her were released, John pulled her to him, holding her tightly. He felt the back of her head and hear an indrawn breath. When he drew his hand away, he saw a trace of blood.

"Jesus, you have got to be sick of saving my ass . . ." Zoe mumbled into his neck.

"I happen to like your ass," John whispered into her ear.

"You should get checked out, Zoe," he said gently. He held her away from him slightly so that he could take a look at her. "You might have a concussion. Did she hurt you anywhere else?"

Zoe shook her head. "No - - ahhh." and winced as she grabbed her head.

"The EMT's should be here soon," Carter told them.

Zoe looked at John, "You need to get out of here John."

He nodded, cupped the back of her neck and pulled her close. "I'll see you later, okay?" He kissed her gently and got up. As he passed by Carter, she raised an eyebrow at him. "It's a long story." He said as he walked out.

* * *

AN: There's still another chapter to go folks! Hang in there.

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Zoe stared into the bathroom mirror for several minutes as she leaned forward with her palms on the sink. Her face was pale and her eyes were droopy. It was late. She had been at the precinct for hours, giving statements, signing papers, talking. She had come home to an empty apartment, John, she assumed was working. Tired and exhausted, she should have been ready for sleep. But for some reason or another, she couldn't.

She turned the shower on to let the water warm and quickly shed her clothes. As she stepped into the shower, Zoe turned the water as hot as she could stand, letting it beat on her face and soothe her aching muscles. The water had a surprisingly calming effect on her that she didn't notice when a shadow appeared on the other side of the completely hazed over glass.

"Zoe," he said smiling. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"John," she responded with a smile of her own, but he couldn't see it through the fogged up glass.

"Think that water is hot enough?"

"I wouldn't mind it a bit hotter," she replied as she turned up the hot water just a bit more.

Fully involved in the process of lathering up her body, she was surprised by a blast of cold air and the feel of a body pressed against her back. Though she tensed for a miniscule minute, she allowed herself to release the tension. Leaning her head back against his shoulder, her temple came into contact with his jaw. She smiled as he purposefully rubbed his day old stubble on her.

"Are you okay?" He asked as his hands rested on her stomach. His chest was pressed against her back and she could feel his heartbeat.

"I am now," she replied as her eyes closed and she rested her hands on his. Her hands began a rhythmic circling motion on his managing to get soap all over them. His slick hands moved to her waist, her hips and up towards her breasts.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked as he washed each breast slowly, touching and caressing them. Zoe gasped as he moved lower and shifted to allow him access.

Her head was still resting on his shoulder, eyes closed. "Hmm, nothing much right now," she replied as her hands made progress of their own. Gently reaching behind her, her hands soapy, she traced his thighs, his rear and his waist in that rhythmic circular motion.

Turning to face him, she reversed their positions so that his back was to the shower head. "Give me your hand John," she asked with a playful quirk to her lip. Arching a brow, John held his hand out to her. She turned his hand palm up and squeezes a dollop of body wash on. "I think it's your turn to get lathered up," she teased.

John turned and stepped under the showerhead as he began his chore. As he rinsed his hair, she touched him, running her fingers lightly over the firm skin of his back, the ever present circular pattern moving lower and lower until she reached his perfectly shaped derriere. His breath came in short bursts as she tickled the soft skin there. He reached forward to steady himself against the wall.

Zoe reached around him. "Are you happy to see me John," she asked with a coy smile.

He gasped and quivered at the touch of her hand, the slow, steady strokes.

"No . . . doubt . . ." he whispered, his voice trembling as he felt her body pressing up against his.

Laying her cheek against his shoulder blades, she asked, "Turn around, John."

"I..." he murmured.

"Please," she cajoled gently.

John met her gaze as he slowly turned to face her; her eyes astonishingly large and vivid given her recent ordeal. Taking him in her hand again, she resumed her gentle motions.

"We should . . ." he tried one more time to suggest moving towards the bedroom but she shook her head deliberately, effectively shushing him. She worked her way down his body with licks, and nibbles, and kisses, tracing his muscled abdomen with her tongue. As she finally sank to her knees, Zoe's eyes locked on his.

"Zoe? I...we... ZOE!"

* * *

She opened her eyes to darkness, the only light coming from the bathroom. Her head was nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. She took a deep breath and sighed again. She craned her neck slightly and looked up at his face. His eyelashes were impossibly thick and long as they rested against his high cheekbones. Unable to resist, she cupped his stubbled jaw as she often did. Often just to make sure he was really there, with her.

His lashes fluttered as his eyes opened. The bathroom light reflected like silver fire in his eyes as a corner of his mouth lifted up, "Hey," he whispered.

"Hi, yourself," she responded.

"How'd we get this way?" He asked.

"Do I need to draw you a map?" She asked as she quirked a brow.

"No I mean this." He raised the still laced fingers of their hands, gazing at her with a startled look in his eyes. How, amid the constant chaos of lives threatened, ex-lovers coming back from the dead, being set up for murder; did two people who didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell, together build something amazing?

She sat up to face him,pulling him to a sitting position. "You're wondering how we managed to find some small semblance of a normal life," she asked, as if reading his mind.

At his nod, she shrugged her shoulders and quoted Tennyson. "Ours is not to reason why. . ." Neither one of them planned to chisel and wedge their way into each other's lives. They were there for each other to talk, to help, to comfort in a way no one else could. The small semblance of serenity wasn't anything like either one of them expected. It was more than either of them ever dreamed of.

Putting her hand over his heart, she took a deep breath. "I think inside, you and I know what this is," she said putting every ounce of conviction into her words, keeping her eyes steady on his for what appeared to be forever.

John pulled her hand away from his heart, and kissed her palm. "You make me believe it's possible," he whispered against her skin, his voice skeptical and hopeful at the same time.

"No," she said gently cupping his cheek. "You're the one who makes it possible."

* * *

AN: Oh alright. Someone mentioned the ending was too sappy? What do you guys think? Less of the sap next time?

 


End file.
